


now all that's left is cinders

by luxxurycar



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: but i'm not gonna tell you what to do, probably don't read if you haven't seen season 3, spoilers for the opera scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxxurycar/pseuds/luxxurycar
Summary: Georgina attends a party at VFD headquarters. Olaf shoves a woman in a dragonfly costume off of the balcony.





	now all that's left is cinders

Georgina has never been the biggest fan of parties, VFD or otherwise, so she’s surprised to find the masquerade ball...almost _fun_. Understandably, given the nature of a mostly-secret organization, the Volunteer Fire Department does not often throw parties, and the few that Georgina’s attended in the past have been...well, decidedly _not_ fun. She thinks she might be a little biased in that regard, though, as none of the other volunteers are the slightest bit interested in optometry, and her other hobby isn’t exactly considered a polite thing to bring up, so it’s not like she’s able to have many interesting conversations. But tonight, in the brightly lit foyer of their brand new mountainside headquarters, surrounded by the closest thing she has to a group of friends...it’s different. She can’t remember the last time everyone was not only together, but happy about it. Part of her hopes it will last after this.

Then again, it’s not like she’s been making herself available to spend time with the other volunteers lately. Unfortunately, a side effect of dabbling in things one’s unfailingly noble associates would deem ‘morally wrong’ and ‘unjust’ is that one can’t exactly spend a lot of time in the company of said associates without arousing quite a bit of suspicion. Shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts of that unpleasantness, Georgina turns to her date of the evening, Gustav. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have even considered letting him accompany her, but tonight, again, is different. Olaf is supposed to be here, but he’s not, and Georgina is staunchly refusing to let that worry her. She isn’t even thinking about how he’d insisted she ask someone, anyone, to accompany her during the evening, nor is she allowing herself to consider the implications of Olaf apparently wanting to be alone tonight of all nights. And she most certainly isn’t thinking about the fact that Beatrice is supposed to be here too, but she hasn’t seen her either.

Georgina opens her mouth to give Gustav an order, because testing her... _abilities_ always makes her feel better, but Jacqueline sidles up next to her before she can speak. “Georgina, you’re looking fabulous,” Jacqueline smiles. She’s holding her mask up to cover her eyes, as if it makes a difference. “How do you always manage to get the handsomest dates?” She continues, lowering the mask moments later.

It’s empty flattery, the kind Georgina has come to expect from most of the other volunteers. She tolerates it, mostly, because it’s slightly better than being ignored, and because she’s sure it would break their noble little hearts if she ever said anything about it. “Certainly not because I hypnotize them,” she responds, savoring the second of discomfort that flits across Jacqueline’s face before she can manage to hide it. “Hypnotizing people is wrong, and something I would never do,” she continues, smiling sweetly. One of these days someone will call her out on the lie. Georgina hopes they will every time, hopes the mask of politeness will crumble, just once. It will not happen tonight, though; she can tell immediately that Jacqueline was ready for her. Georgina hides her frustration just as she has every time in the past, turning suddenly to her date. “Gustav, get me a drink,” she orders.

To her delight, he immediately nods, and she sees that his eyes have glazed over as he turns to head over to the bar. There’s nothing, _nothing_ Georgina loves more than moments like this, waving her immoral, unjust hobby under the noses of people like Jacqueline who would never dream of being _impolite_ and telling her off. She’s been practicing more frequently, trying more complicated things. Gustav, for instance, has been instructed to slip into a trance when Georgina says his name-but, of course, it doesn’t work when anyone else says it. He’s the first one she’s managed to make it work with; usually she likes to use code words or phrases, just in case. She shakes her head again slightly, noticing as she does so that Jacqueline has slipped away to talk to someone else. She doesn’t like thinking about the safeguards she has to put in place on her work; doesn’t like thinking about why she does it. In theory, she’s part of a noble organization working for the greater good. She’s never told anyone that she doesn’t trust it anyway, not even Olaf.

As she thinks his name, there’s a crash from over by the bar. Someone’s dropped a drink; not surprising since she’s pretty sure everyone is tipsy, but it still puts her on edge. _Something’s_ _wrong_ , she thinks without meaning to. Gustav is working his way back over to her with the drink she’d asked for, but Georgina is already way past caring about him. Something in the air has changed; the very energy giving the party its crackling, electric edge has turned sharper, more dangerous. _Run_ , something tells her. _Run and never look back._

Georgina isn’t a coward, but she’s not stupid either. When what seems like half the party starts gravitating towards the balcony, drawn by a sudden shout, she backs the other way. She knows, with the same certainty she knows that none of these brave and noble people will ever say to her face that they know she hypnotizes people and think less of her because of it, that she doesn’t want to see what everyone else is crowding around to look at. Someone brushes a hand over her shoulder and it’s a testament to how tense she is that she jumps about a mile at the touch. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Jacques Snicket smiles as he passes her, but there’s concern in his expression and his voice. If he expects her to ask what’s going on, he doesn’t show it, just continues on across the room towards the balcony after a moment’s pause.

Georgina turns and heads for the exit. There’s about a hundred ways in and out of this place, depending on where you want to end up, so she has plenty of choices. She doesn’t get very long to think about it though, because she’s just about to open the door of the coat room and grab her things when an arm snakes around her waist. Olaf knows her well enough to know she wouldn’t scream at the surprise, so he hadn’t bothered covering her mouth, but he looks startled when she jumps at his touch. “It’s me,” he says, not particularly reassuringly, as if she can’t see him standing next to her. She bites back her sarcastic retort and just nods instead. “We have to leave,” he adds. “Now.” She isn’t surprised; she’d half expected him to be at the center of whatever just happened, but she doesn’t know why there’s a _we_ involved now. He only ever uses _we_ when he wants something from her, but she can’t imagine what he’d need from her tonight.

“Olaf,” she says, already following him out. _What happened?_ She wants to ask. She doesn’t. He doesn’t look back at her as they hurry along one of several identical hallways. _Is it Beatrice?_ She thinks, but doesn’t say it. It’s been a few weeks since he’d found out the truth. She’d thought-hoped-he was coping. They hadn’t talked about it, of course, but they never really talk about anything that matters. She has to walk fast to keep up with him, and she wonders again what he wants from her.

“I pushed her,” he says, matter of factly, as if Georgina should already know. It takes her a second, but a chill slides down her spine when she understands. _Beatrice_. The air around them still feels electric, humming with danger like a toaster thrown into a bathtub. The hallway feels threatening, suddenly, like its sharp angles are closing in on them as they hurry down a set of stairs towards the first floor exit. Georgina thinks, somewhat ridiculously, _this_ _is_ _real_. This isn’t the same as everything else she and Olaf have been through together; a phrase which here means it’s not like the fires. The fires she can understand. She likes the fires, likes the way the matches flare when they light them, the _whoosh_ as whatever structure they’ve targeted goes up in flames, the utter chaos as the residents of said structure scramble to escape. Most of all, she likes _him_ , Olaf, the way he looks at her in the light of the flames, as if anything and everything is possible. This isn’t like that. This is jagged and cold, so cold it takes her breath away.

A few seconds later, the frigid mountain air really does take her breath away. Too late, she remembers her coat. It’s a long, cold walk from here to the base of Mount Fraught, but that’s evidently not going to stop Olaf. _Obviously_ , she chastises herself. _He’s just committed a murder!_ The thought takes her breath away all over again, or at least what little breath she has that the wind hasn’t already ripped from her. She feels ridiculous, following Olaf out into the snow. She hasn’t _done_ anything, technically; she could go back inside and probably no one would even say anything about it, except it’s not that simple because this is _Olaf_. They’ve never bailed on each other, _never_ , not even that time they’d set a whole town on fire and then spent the evening drinking the memory away.

But she does need to say _something_ , anything. She needs, almost desperately, to know why, even though she already knows the answer, technically. She wants to hear Olaf say it, though she doesn’t know why. It won’t change it, this thing he’s done. But she wants to know if it’s the same as the fires, for him. She doesn’t know what she wants the answer to be, which means she probably shouldn’t ask the question.

But she wants to _know_. “Olaf,” Georgina says, picking her way over a particularly treacherous patch of ice on the narrow mountain path and doing it with a minimum of stumbling despite her shoes being decidedly ill-suited for hiking through the snow in the middle of the night. Olaf barely glances back at her. “Olaf,” she tries again, her voice swallowed by the frigid wind. It feels like hours ago that she was comfortable and warm in the foyer, rather than minutes. He stops, impatiently, hands in his pockets. He has to be freezing too, since he’s only got on one of his fur coats over a thin shirt, but he’s not shivering. “What happened?” She asks, because it seems like the best and least threatening way to open the conversation.

“I already told you I pushed her,” Olaf responds, and there’s a sharp edge to his voice that Georgina’s only heard a few times before. “She was standing on the balcony. Didn’t even see me coming. Wouldn’t have, anyway. Someone screamed. Yelled something. She looked up,” he shrugs. He’s wound tight, muscles tense. Not as casual about it as he’d seemed, then. Georgina finds that relieving, somehow; she’s not the only one here who wasn’t prepared for this.

“It’s just...the fires are one thing, and, well, _murdering_ someone is...it’s not the same,” she attempts to convey her mixed feelings, with decidedly mixed results. Technically plenty of people had died in the fires they’d set. But that doesn’t feel like _murder_ , doesn’t send that icy chill down her spine, not the same way shoving someone down a mountain does. The heel of one of her shoes slips on a patch of ice and she stumbles, catching hold of Olaf’s elbow to steady herself. He stares at her, his expression unreadable.

“She’s not dead. I didn’t think her costume wings would actually _work_ ,” Olaf mutters after a moment, turning away and continuing down the path. Georgina lets go of his arm and concentrates on staying upright. They’re almost at the bridge that spans the Stricken Stream; once they’re across it, the terrain will even out and it’ll be a little easier to make their way down the rest of the mountain. The rush of relief she feels at his words is surprising, even to her. She’s never particularly liked Beatrice; but then, she’s never _dis_ liked her either. They’ve gotten along fine, all things considered. Georgina’s never even considered trying to hypnotize her, which is saying something since she’s thought about practicing her craft on almost all of her fellow volunteers.

She picks her way gingerly across another patch of ice, focusing harder than she probably needs to so she has an excuse for not continuing the conversation. She wants to be relieved, because Beatrice being alive means that they can stop this now, turn around; they don’t have to stay here where everything looks sharp and lethal, they can go back to the fires and their schemes and their morally questionable hobbies and never look back. But she already knows what reaction that will get, because she knows that Olaf isn’t going to stop. A detached kind of dread has settled in her chest, though she’s not sure whether it’s the situation or just the cold that’s made her so numb.

She steps onto the narrow bridge over the Stricken Stream and almost walks right into Olaf, who’s facing her now with his arms crossed over his chest. “Georgina, Georgina, Georgina,” he repeats, teeth bared in a smile that doesn’t look friendly at all.

“Yes, that’s my name,” she responds with a confidence she doesn’t feel, because the night has turned slippery and treacherous again despite her feet being firmly planted on the thankfully solid wooden bridge. “Did you have a point?” She asks flippantly, doing her best to ignore the sudden certainty that something has betrayed her despite her best attempts to hide her thoughts.

“You little minx,” he practically purrs, closing the distance between them. Georgina has seen him look like this before, sharp and dangerous like a predator. It’s just never been directed _at_ _her_ before. She suddenly feels incredibly foolish for thinking it never would be. “You don’t think I should have pushed her.” It’s not a question, so she doesn’t try to answer, but silence is obviously the wrong choice. “She _killed_ my _father_ ,” Olaf snarls suddenly, his face inches from hers. Georgina tenses, but doesn’t step back. He’s bluffing. Probably. Either way she’s not going to give him the satisfaction of looking scared. The wind rushes around them, nudging at them insistently. “She deserves to die,” Olaf snarls, drawing her attention again. He’s pacing now, like a caged animal. _He isn’t going to stop_ , she thinks again. It hurts, somehow, in an unidentifiable way, that he would throw everything away for...for _this_.

“It’s not worth it, Olaf,” she hears herself saying before she realizes what’s happening. His gaze snaps towards her. “It’s…” she tries again, but the words get caught in her throat. _It’s not right,_ she wants to say. _It makes you no better than her._ But she can’t. Olaf would never forgive her, she knows that.

“It’s what, Georgina?” He asks after a few moments, his gaze sharp. “Do _enlighten_ me, darling,” he practically purrs. He’s in her face again, demanding all of her attention, and for one wild, ridiculous second Georgina can’t for the life of her understand how they got to this point. “It’s not the same as the fires?” He tries, pretending to mull that over for a few seconds. “Good,” he spits when he’s done pretending. “It _shouldn’t_ be,” he snarls. He’s getting worked up now, almost as enraged as he’d been the night he’d discovered the truth, only it’s worse now because there’s no grief to temper the anger. Georgina can’t bring herself to move, though it’s not entirely out of fear of him. But moving, speaking, addressing this...this _thing_ that’s in their lives now-it will make it real.

It takes her a few seconds to realize that he’s stopped speaking. He’s not looking at her, though, which should be a good sign. It would be, probably, if all she wanted was to escape. But she can’t; it’s got its claws in her already, she can feel it. Besides, they’re _partners_. “Olaf,” she says, proud of how steady her voice sounds. She’s not even cold anymore, can’t feel the wind as it whips around her. “Olaf, don’t you want to see Beatrice burn?” She hears herself ask, realizing as she says the words that this is likely her last chance. She faces him, chin lifted because she’s _not_ afraid of him, not even here on the side of Mount Fraught in the middle of the night, and for a split second she thinks she’s convinced him.

“Yes,” he says slowly, contemplating her question. “Yes, I think I would,” he responds slowly, his gaze coming up to meet hers. Georgina is embarrassingly close to something foolish like crying in relief-she hadn’t even realized how tense she’d been until she no longer had a reason to be-when he continues softly, stepping well into her personal space again. “But first, Georgina, I think I’d like to watch you _drown_ ,” he says, in the same tone a normal person might say that they’d like to watch a sunset or a thunderstorm.

And then he shoves her.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Out of my Head by Digital Daggers. I'm snicketscope on tumblr, come talk to me if y'all want


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